


Make This Your Home

by riseofthefallenone



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Divergent, Fluff, Human!Castiel - Freeform, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 04:11:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6179713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riseofthefallenone/pseuds/riseofthefallenone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With his grace gone for good, Castiel has to find the place where he belongs. After having already been rejected from the bunker once before, he's not sure how long he'll be allowed to stay this time and has trouble making it his home. </p><p>Dean, riddled with guilt, does his best to help Cas understand that he's family and the bunker is where he belongs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make This Your Home

**Author's Note:**

> This was a thank you gift to the ever wonderful [morethancupcake](http://morethancupcake.tumblr.com/).

Castiel lives his days now with a lingering sense of dread for the future. Being human is nothing new to him. Even the new physical and emotional aspects to it are somewhat familiar. He experienced it in the time after Metatron stole his grace, but that doesn’t mean he hates it any less now. Before, he knew it was possible to get his grace back and there was still _hope_ for returning to the life he knew. This time there is no going back.

His grace is gone. Permanently. It’s been dissolved into the ether of the world; sacrificed to save one of the few people Castiel would ever give everything for. The grace of angel was needed to burn away the Mark of Cain. Even though Castiel had _just_ gotten it back, he had no hesitations or regrets at giving it up again to save Dean from whatever dark future lay ahead of him with that mark on his arm. Now Dean is free from it and that knowledge is one of the few bright points in Castiel’s life.

At least this time he knows how to be human, more or less. Bodily functions are still very awkward and uncomfortable at times, but he manages. He has experience with that now and he’s not struggling to learn it all on his own. Castiel hasn’t come across anything new that he doesn’t know how to deal with – yet. If he does, the chances of the Winchesters being there to help him through it are much higher than they were the first time around.

Though – Castiel can’t help but wonder how long that will be true. Now that he’s powerless, he’s useless to them. He still retains his extensive knowledge on all things supernatural and Castiel is a true wizard when it comes to research – but will that be enough? Dean and Sam only ever called on him when they needed the help that only an angel can provide. There is every chance that he won’t be seen as an _asset_ anymore – and Castiel’s heart won’t be able to take another rejection.

If Dean tells him he can’t stay in the bunker _again_ – Well, he doesn’t want to think about that. Ever. But of course that just means those kind of thoughts are _constantly_ lurking in the back of his mind. Even now, while he’s staring at the bricked ceiling of what is now considered ‘ _Cas’s Room_ ’ (if the silly little sign Dean stuck to the door is anything to go by), Castiel still doesn’t feel like he’s really going to be allowed to stay. This is evidenced by how he’s been here for three days and his closet is still empty, save for his packed duffle bag sitting under the unused hangers.

In an odd twist of irony, Dean is actually the one who gave Castiel the bag to start with. After the ritual to remove the Mark of Cain, he had nothing but the clothes on his back and a few things he kept in the trunk of his Lincoln Continental. When he was homeless during his first instance of humanity, Castiel had carried everything he needed in his pockets. Bags could be easily stolen. But if his hands were in his pockets and on his few possessions, it was much harder to have them taken from him.

Now that he’s supposedly living here in the bunker, Castiel is supposed to have _things_. He has his own room, and a couple hand-me-down outfits from both Dean and Sam. There’s apparently even plans to take him shopping at some point this coming weekend – after things have settled down for everyone. That is, of course, if Castiel even stays until then. Dean doesn’t carry the Mark of Cain anymore, and Gadreel is no longer hiding within Sam. But who knows what reason either of them would find to get rid of the dead weight a graceless angel brings to them.

Castiel starts in surprise at an almost timid knock at the door. Four taps – the first two soft and the last two more resolute. His stomach turns with nerves. This could be it. At least his bag is already prepared for departure. He won’t have to suffer through any awkwardness caused by the delay of having to pack. Honestly, why else would someone come to his door at the early hours of seven o’clock in the morning? To his understanding, Sam is usually out for a run if he gets up this early. And Dean hasn’t made an appearance before ten o’clock since the mark was removed.

With a building sense of trepidation growing heavy in his chest, Castiel carefully folds back the blankets and gets out of bed. The floor is cold under his feet and the air of the room is chillier than expected. He winces against it and wraps his arms around himself as he shuffles to the door. His thin t-shirt and boxers do nothing to warm him. He almost wonders if it would be worth it to ask Dean how to heat his room. What if asking such a question just instigated another “ _you can’t stay”_ conversation? It was something simple and similar that had Dean telling him that the first time.

When he opens the door, it’s with mixed feelings. First and foremost; fear. Then when he sees that it’s Dean, looking tired with dark rings under his eyes, Castiel’s worry takes hold. This is much too early for him to be up, and he doesn’t look like he’s slept a wink all night. Even so, Castiel can’t bring himself to be the first to speak. He doesn’t want to break the silence and bring about a conversation that he’s dreading. Perhaps what kept Dean up all night is the knowledge of having to tell him that he has to go?

“G’morning, Cas.” Dean gives him a tired smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. In fact, he can hardly look Castiel in the face. “I – uh – Did I wake you?” He shakes his head and Dean seems to relax slightly. “Oh, good. Okay, so, last night I was – Well, just look. I got’cha something.”

That’s when Castiel notices that Dean’s hands are behind his back. Despite how tired he looks, Dean seems more nervous than usual. For what reason, Castiel couldn’t begin to fathom. He could know Dean for a thousand years and still he would likely never be able to understand him. Because of that, he braces himself for the worst – all while his curiosity is piqued. What could Dean possibly be hiding?

Of all things, Castiel is not expecting a pair of slippers or a folded grey housecoat similar to the ones Dean is wearing. A tinge of pink rises in Dean’s ears as he holds them out. “Mornings and evenings get a little cold in here and the boiler doesn’t heat it all.” He stoops to put the slippers in front of Castiel’s bare feet, ready for him to step into them. “Figured since I couldn’t sleep last night, I’d dig these out of storage for you like I found mine. It’s high time you get yourself comfortable here, don’t’cha think?”

Castiel can only blink down at the slippers, dumbfounded. Those are for _him_? He looks up sharply as Dean unfurls the house coat and swings it around him. It drapes over Castiel’s shoulders and he’s struck by the fresh scent of the softener that Dean bought for their laundry. The housecoat is even still warm from the dryer. Did Dean really spend half the night looking for these things just to clean them for him? Is he trying to make Castiel comfortable here because he really does plan to let him stay?

As sincerely as he possibly can, Castiel thanks him. Dean only ducks his head and steps back. “Go ahead and try ‘er on. I’m just – I’ll go get breakfast ready. You in the mood for waffles?”

He nods and that’s all the answer Dean needs and he disappears down the hall without another word. With the kind of reverence he once reserved for walking the fields of his favourite Heaven, Castiel steps into the slippers. They’re just as warm as the house coat and he happily slips his arms into the sleeves. He ties the sash at his waist and hugs himself again, letting the warmth of the fabric settle into his skin. It’s wonderful and it warms him to his human core.

If only he could convince himself that this is proof he can stay.

* * *

It’s become habit now. Dean does the cooking; Sam does the dishes. Dean does the laundry; Sam keeps his goddamn room clean. Dean tidies all the common areas and makes sure that everything is organized; Sam usually keeps the library and archives all sorted out. They have their own things around the bunker that they do – patterns that they’ve fallen into. That’s just how it goes – or rather, that’s how it _went_.

Now that Cas lives here, they need to figure out how to work him into the chore wheel. Dean fully intends to make Cas feel at home here, and what better way to make a place a home than to work at maintaining it? But more than that, they just need to find _anything_ for Cas to do. Something’s up with him and Dean can’t decide if he’s depressed or if he’s just bored – or if he’s still having trouble adjusting to being fully human.

There’s a sense of responsibility here. Even if Dean wasn’t the reason Cas gave up his wings, he’d still be right at his side trying to help him settle into humanity. Cas is family now, even if he doesn’t seem to think it. But he’ll come around – once he actually leaves his damn bedroom. The poor guy has been keeping himself locked up in there, reading God knows what. Dean sees him take all sorts of stacks of books in there.

If it weren’t for meal times, Dean probably wouldn’t see Cas at all. Even then, Cas hardly eats. Half his plate is usually left behind, though it’s gone by morning. It’s likely that Cas eats it in the middle of the night. Maybe Dean needs to start giving him smaller portions and leaving out midnight snacks? He’ll have to look into that. Maybe doing that might bring Cas’s smile back for good. Dean only gets to see little hints of it every so often.

But that doesn’t explain why Cas sometimes looks a little panicked whenever Dean walks into the room. It’s just a little flash of it in his eyes, but Dean’s seen it often enough in other people to know. The question here though, is _why_? Cas knows him and he knows that he’s family. It’s not like Dean is going to turn around and stab him or something. Sure, maybe if he was still under the influence of the Mark of Cain he might’ve. But that’s gone now and it’s all thanks to Cas.

Sure, humanity isn’t that easy to adjust to for an angel, but Dean is here and ready to help him this time. He dropped the ball hard the first time around, but half of that can be blamed on Gadreel. If things had been different back then – God, but Dean never would have let Cas leave. It damn near broke his heart having to tell Cas to go that first time. And he’ll be damned (yet _another_ time) before he ever tells Cas to leave again. Not even another goddamn apocalypse could make him do that. He’ll throw himself into the pit itself before he ever sees that confused and all too _hurt_ look on Cas’s face again.

That look haunts him – no matter what he’s doing. It’s right up there in his nightmares with seeing Cas explode with a snap, and that time he walked into the river, or even when he let go of Dean’s hand in Purgatory, and – of course – tied down to a chair with an angel sword in his belly. Basically every time Dean’s lost Cas – every time he’s been _taken_ from him – it follows Dean like a shadow he can’t shake.

No matter how hard he tries, he’s never going to forget the heavy silence in the Impala when he drove Cas to the bus station. Cas didn’t look at him and he didn’t say a word when Dean handed over a back pack with essentials in it. He stuffed it as full as he could with a change of clothes, a cell phone, some food, and as much money as he could scrape together before they left the bunker. It was all he could do to try and ease his conscience and make sure that Cas wouldn’t be living on the streets again.

Those memories still sting. And if that guilt is weighing on _him_ , the King of Fuck Ups, then he can’t even imagine what Cas felt then. Or what he’s feeling right now. Hopefully – and Dean’s crossing his fingers on this one – _Hopefully_ , Cas knows that this time he can stay. That _this_ is his home. Right here with the Winchesters, where he belongs. There’s no streets for him this time around.

That said, Dean doesn’t actually know what to feel when he takes Cas’s laundry to his room to find that the only thing hanging in his closet is his suit. He’s the one who hung it there when he got it from the trunk of the Lincoln – so that it wouldn’t wrinkle. When they brought Cas home, Dean made sure that there were enough hangers for what little clothes Cas had. They even bought an extra pack when they took him shopping last week to pad his wardrobe a little more. The only thing in here, besides the suit, is the duffle bag Dean gave Cas to use on hunts – whenever they take those up again.

If Cas wasn’t in the shower right now, Dean would absolutely be asking him what the fuck is going on. Where the hell are his clothes? Here he was, thinking he’d be nice and cut Cas some slack by putting away his clothes for him. But there’s fucking nothing to find here. The wardrobe has a couple built in drawers and he yanks one of those open to take a look. Maybe Cas is one of them guys who likes folding his shit and putting it in a dresser instead?

Well, he’s not wrong, that’s for sure. There’s definitely stuff in the dresser, but it’s not what Dean was expecting. Dean stares down at the plastic bags from Walmart. The handles are folded out of the way and some of Cas’s things are folded nice and neat in stacks inside the bags. One of them is devoted to underwear, the other for socks, and another looks like it’s got some ties. What the _hell_? Those red boxers sitting tucked in one of the bags is one that Cas wore before the last laundry day. Dean remembers throwing it in the washer and folding them into Cas’s basket earlier last week.

This is fucked up and it’s raising his goddamn suspicions. Dean grabs the duffle out of the closet and throws it down on the bed. He damn near rips the zipper off getting it open. Sure enough, half of Cas’s clothes are army rolled up in the fucking thing. Something pulls tight in his chest in this painful kind of hiccup that Dean _hates_. Cas hasn’t unpacked a single damn thing. He and Sam don’t even do this shit. They pack before they go on a hunt, and they unpack when they get home. That’s what you _do_ when you have a home. So, does that mean Cas doesn’t think of this place as his home?

Whatever the answer is, Dean doesn’t like it and they’re going to need to have a goddamn talk about this. They need to have this fucking talk _yesterday_ because right now _he’s_ the one who’s confused, and hurt, and a whole ton of shit he can’t even begin to sort through.

* * *

There are many things Castiel would not expect to find waiting for him in his bedroom. Dean Winchester is one of them. And certainly not sitting on the edge of his bed with Castiel’s duffle bag sitting between his feet. He’s seen that expression on Dean’s face before – his eyebrows drawn together, and a confused pain in his eyes. Castiel hates that look almost as much as he hates that sinking feeling in his belly when Dean looks up at him.

“Cas.”

His fingers tighten on the sash of his housecoat and he resists the urge to wipe a stray drop of water from his forehead. He really should have dried his hair before leaving the bathroom. “Dean.” It’s a blessing that his voice doesn’t shake. “Can I help you?”

“We need to talk.” Dean reaches down and flips the bag open.

That’s all Castiel needs to hear. Heat prickles his face and he blinks away the sting in his eyes. He knew this was coming and he was prepared for it, but it still hurts. It’s just as painful as before and Castiel looks away. “There’s no need. I understand.” His throat feels tight and the words feel like they’re too thick to fit through. “I just need to change and then I’ll go. You don’t need to drive me this time. I can –”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Dean cuts him off not just with his words, but with a hand on his shoulder as he pulls Castiel around to face him. “Let’s just take a second and _stop_. Where the hell are you going and _why_?”

Castiel tries to shake Dean’s hold off his shoulder. It feels too heavy for his liking and he can’t bring himself to look him in the eye. And he absolutely can’t bring himself to say anything right now. How is he supposed to tell Dean that he doesn’t want to go? That he wants to stay here with them? Is he allowed to just _say_ that?

Dean’s grip tightens almost painfully. It’s the almost _scared_ tone to his voice nearly makes Castiel look up. “Are you leaving, Cas?”

He still can’t find his words. Instead he presses his lips together and resolutely stares at the floor. Dean puts his hand on Castiel’s other shoulder and turns him to face him completely. “I just wanna talk about the clothes, Cas. About why all your shit is packed up like you’re ready to leave. You don’t gotta do that, y’know? It’s okay to settle down here like me and Sam have.”

The stinging in his eyes gets worse and Castiel closes them. If Dean keeps talking, then he’s really going to start thinking that he’s going to be allowed to stay. A lump rises in his throat and he shakes his head. He can’t just let himself start thinking that he’s _wanted_. What good is he going to be to anyone without his grace now? Castiel is useless and everyone knows it.

“Cas.” Dean’s voice takes a gentle almost sad tone to it and he squeezes his shoulders again. “This isn’t like last time, okay? Last time I wanted to you _here_ but Gadreel – Well, he’s not here anymore, Cas. You are. And I still want you here. With me – and with Sam too. Okay? You’re family and we’re not sending you away ever again. Got it?”

He can’t resist anymore. Castiel looks up and feels that constant weight in his stomach ease significantly. Dean looks so sincere that Castiel might actually believe him. His voice is small when he finally finds it again. “I can stay?”

“This is your home, Cas. If – uh – if you want it to be, that is. And I’d never tell you to leave it.” Dean’s hand comes up to briefly pat him on the cheek. It’s a tender gesture that seems to surprise them both and he drops it immediately, taking a quick step back. “I mean – y’know. That one time was a special case. I didn’t _want_ to do it though, and I totally jumped at the first chance to hunt with you after that. So it’s – I mean – We –”

Silence falls between them as Dean stutters to an awkward stop. He stares down at his feet for a minute before ruffling his hair in frustration. “Okay – look.” Dean squares his shoulders, determination filling every edge of him. “What can I do to make it up to you? Is there anything that would – I dunno – make you feel more at home here?”

That’s a very good question and it’s one Castiel will have to ruminate on. He’s spent more time thinking about what he might do if told to leave than giving any real thought to how he could make himself more comfortable here. However, there is one thing that could help right now…

“Could we start with letting me put on some clothes first?”

Dean’s unexpected laugh brings the kind of smile to Castiel’s face that almost hurts – in the best way possible. And it feels _good_.

* * *

There is a problem developing and it has everything to do with the reason why Dean Winchester, former Righteous Man and current hunter extraordinaire, is spending his Saturday afternoon in a _Walmart_ of all places. On the list of things he never expected to do in his lifetime, this right now would hit the top ten. Who would have ever thought that one day he’d be leaning on a shopping cart, watching his best friend stand in front of a wall of seed packets humming and hawing over which ones he should get? The same people that would be surprised by this probably wouldn’t believe that Dean was the one who built Cas the garden in the first place. Or that he’s actually kinda looking forward to seeing the fruits of their labour, so to speak.

And therein lies the problem.

Cas turns to him with two pouches in his hands. “Should we go with melons or pumpkins?” 

“Pumpkins, definitely.” Dean points at the orange packet and grins. “When Halloween hits, we can carve the shit out of ‘em and have the coolest damn jack-o’-lanterns on the block. Then we could roast up the seeds and use the rest to make the best pumpkin pies in the state.”

The smile he gets for that is bright and wide and Dean fucking _loves_ how frequently he sees them now-a-days. Honestly, who’d have thought that Cas would’ve been so into _gardening_ of all things? It started with a couple shows on TV and turned into Cas asking if it’d be okay to have a herb garden for a window. He had looked _so_ disappointed when Dean reminded him that they didn’t have any proper windows like that in the bunker that the next thing out of his mouth had been the suggestion of building one outside.

Dean learned that day that he’d do just about anything when Cas does the sad eyes thing. The very same day he’d gone out and got the lumber needed to mark out the garden and put out some chicken wire to keep the animals out of it. Though Cas probably wouldn’t be too upset if a rabbit stole a couple of his carrots. Hell, he’d probably be _happy_ to help out a hungry animal. Which is just so very _Cas_ that it makes Dean feel a little light headed.

“The shows said that zucchinis can get out of hand. Should we try for them?” Cas picks another packet off the wall and shakes it at Dean.

“I wouldn’t even know what to use it for.”

Cas tilts his head back and squints at the ceiling, like he’s thinking. “You can slice it like a cucumber, bake it in bread or muffins, slice it into pasta, cut them into wedges and fry them, or –”

He stops when Dean raises his hand to cut him off. “Cas, buddy, it’s a _vegetable_. I’m not gonna be wild about it either way. But if you grow it, I’m sure you and Sam can find a recipe for it. Y’do that, and I promise I’ll make it.”

That brings back the smile and Dean has to lean a little harder on the cart as his knees go weak. This is becoming a problem of the worst kind. Primarily because Dean doesn’t know how to fucking _handle_ it. If this was a lady at the bar, he’d make his move without hesitation. But this is Cas and they’ve got a _very_ different history between them than any stranger at the bar. Things are complicated and – and – and they _live_ together.

A few months ago, Cas was terrified that Dean was going to kick him out at a moment’s notice. Now he’s decorated his bedroom, hung up his clothes, and now he’s starting a _garden_. Dean could ruin all that with a poorly placed confession and then Cas might be gone again. And that – that’s just the worst. Dean wasn’t kidding when he said that he wanted Cas with him. He’s wanted him to actually stick around for a long damn time and now he doesn’t want to risk chasing him off because emotions make shit messy and awkward and – and yeah, he’ll just keep his damn mouth shut.

* * *

 

Castiel isn’t blind and neither is he naïve. Not anymore, at least. He’s gotten much better at reading humans over the years. One could even say that he’s become well versed in it, and especially in the reading of one Winchester in particular. Sam is far more open about his emotions and Castiel has some very good conversations with him. They can be very informative too, regarding any number of topics. Politics, economics, philosophy, psychology, and – on occasion – Dean-ology.

But he has never needed Sam to understand Dean. For example, Castiel is aware that Dean holds him dear in some way. There’s no other reason for why he would go out of his way to make sure that Castiel is comfortable and – most of all – _happy_. He built Castiel a _garden_ , after all. And Dean didn’t even procrastinate doing it. At this point, after the bookshelf, the several trips to the library together, watching marathons of shows together, and the many long hours spent with personal training in the gun range – well, anyone would have their suspicions, wouldn’t they?

How many other friends would Dean do this for? Granted, they don’t exactly _have_ any other friends, really. But Castiel doubts that Den would go to such lengths for just anyone. Would he have sat with Charlie for three whole hours at the library while she went through every book they had on the topic of gardening? Doubtful. Dean might have spent some time looking through books of his own interest, and even napped for the last hour, but he didn’t complain even _once_! And, for Dean, that is rather impressive. Castiel had even insisted on taking that long just to test Dean’s patience.

Now, the question on hand is far more complicated. If Dean really _is_ harbouring some manner of feelings for Castiel, then _why_ hasn’t he acted upon them? Is he waiting for Castiel to say something? Or perhaps he might not be aware that Castiel shares in his feelings? Though, really, that shouldn’t surprise anyone at this point. He has been very open about his fondness for Dean for years now. It’s not like he’s been _subtle_ about it, surely.

These questions have been bouncing around in Castiel’s head for a while now. Ever since he got his garden, he has taken to weeding and tending the plants to help him think. The majority of his garden is made up of vegetables, but there are planters separating each patch and they’re full of flowers. Taking care of them is calming and they make things easier when he’s trying to sort through everything building up in his head. His thoughts have a tendency to do that now that he’s human.

As such, Castiel doesn’t notice that someone has joined him in the garden until the gate slams shut. He looks up in surprise to find Dean standing on the grass path between all the patches. They plan to replace it with stones eventually – once the three of them can settle on a style that they all like. Dean, however, appears to have no interest in the path. He’s balancing a tray in his hands with two glasses and a pitcher of lemonade. That reminds Castiel that he wants to broach the subject of a lemon tree.

“Hey, Cas.” Dean grins at him a little sheepishly and holds out his tray. “We had a can in the fridge, so I went for the tried and true cliché and made our hardworking gardener some good ol’ lemonade. You want a cup?”

Castiel sits back on his heels and wipes some sweat from his forehead. It _is_ rather hot out here, and he does feel somewhat parched. “That would be wonderful. Thank you, Dean.” He smiles up at him and Dean ducks his head, looking pleased with himself.

They sit together on the cheap plastic lawn chairs that Dean set up in a corner of the garden with an equally cheap plastic table. The set doesn’t exactly compliment the garden, but Dean got them at a garage sale for pennies and they’ll do until they can afford something nicer. Castiel has his eye on a couple styles that he’s found online and Sam is in charge of watching for sales in the paper or offered through any websites.

This garden has become a family project and Castiel likes how much it makes this place feel like a _home_ to him. They hunt every so often, but having these plants depend on him and having a place he can tend to just – it helps. Castiel feels comfortable now. And Dean still goes out of his way to make him feel welcome here. Bringing him lemonade is just one of the many ways he does it. And it’s why Castiel downs his lemonade like liquid courage and steels himself to ask something he’s mostly certain will get him a positive response.

“Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

Dean freezes with his glass to his lips. He lowers it slowly, swallows rather loudly, and looks to Castiel with an uncertain smile. “We have dinner together every night, Cas. If you got a specific menu request, y’know you’ve gotta get it to me early enough to check that we’ve got all the ingredients.”

Castiel twists his empty glass between his hands but doesn’t look away. “I meant we could eat _out_. Together. You and me.” He takes a deep breath and tightens his grip on the glass. “Perhaps we might even see a movie?”

If his observation of humanity is any indication, his proposal is something of an average date night. This does not seem to be lost on Dean. Realization spreads across his face, along with a slow smile. He raises an eyebrow and reaches over to refill Castiel’s glass. “Are you asking me on a _date_ , Cas?”

That smile is easing any nerves Castiel had rather well. He sits back again and feels a tentative smile of his own creeping onto his lips. “If you insist on stating the obvious, then yes. I am asking you on a date tonight. Preferably one where we might hold hands.”

Dean snorts a laugh and a pleasant blush rises in his cheeks. “ _Just_ holding hands?”

“For today.” Castiel sips some lemonade and looks out over the garden they built together. “But let it be noted that if the date is successful, I would be _extremely_ interested in anything further. “

He won’t reveal it right now, but since he became aware of Dean’s affection for him, Castiel has spent the odd moment here or there imagining what it would be like to be intimate with Dean. If his imagination is anything like reality, then he will absolutely be able to go through with anything of a physical nature between them. It’s up to Dean now to determine if they get that far.

“So, you’re not a kiss on the first date kind of guy, huh?” Dean’s grin grows so wide that he can barely take another drink. “That’s nice. Gonna do this thing proper, huh?”

Castiel simply hums and gestures out at their garden. “We’ve done this properly. And we’re building a proper life here.” He looks at Dean again and knows that he can’t make too many heartfelt declarations right now. It might scare him off. “I see no reason why _we_ shouldn’t do things properly between us either. Is there any need to rush?”

Dean shrugs and looks out at the garden too. “Nah, you’re right. I like the sound of that.”

They’re sitting on opposite sides of the table. After a moment of silence, Dean puts his arm on the table. The pink in his cheeks has spread to his ears now. It’s endearing and adorable and Castiel feels a strange tickle of pride at being the cause behind it. He glances down at Dean’s hand and the way he drums his fingers on the table. His hands are weathered and scarred and beautiful. Castiel once rebuilt them and he can’t help but wonder if they might feel any different now that he’s human.

With a cough, Dean turns his hand over and wiggles his fingers slightly. “You wanna get started on that hand holding thing of yours right now? Y’know, just to see if that’s – uh – something we can do without laughing our asses off or something?”

His answer is to put his hand in Dean’s. There isn’t even a moment of hesitation. Dean’s skin is warm, his calluses rough, and his palm a little sweaty. It could be from the summer heat, or his own nerves. Castiel doesn’t mind. He slips his fingers between Dean’s and tightens his grip experimentally. It sends a tingling ribbon of sensation up his arm and he likes it. Dean seems to like it too as he squeezes back.

Like the building of the garden, this new thing with Dean will require careful tending. Their garden is coming along wonderfully and Castiel is confident that _this_ – and he squeezes Dean’s hand again for good measure – will be just as successful.


End file.
